


Brother's Keeper

by Slytherclaw (Geminia905)



Series: He Ain't Heavy... [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series), UnDeadwood (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Clayton Backstory, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, OC centric, OC death, UnDeadwood Mini-series (Critical Role)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geminia905/pseuds/Slytherclaw
Summary: Clayton found a family in Deadwood, but it wasn't his first.
Relationships: Reverend Matthew Mason/Clayton Sharpe
Series: He Ain't Heavy... [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1681051
Comments: 38
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying a little something new with this one and exploring a bit of my personal headcanon for Clayton's past.
> 
> It's going to be heavily OC-focused, but the boys will appear in the final chapter(s), which will pick up around the end of 'Pumpkin Pie.'
> 
> I hope to not make this story too triggering for anyone, but anyone who has read my other stories in this universe will not be surprised to learn there will be references to parental child abuse (mostly emotional/psychological in this story).

_ October 31, 1848 _

The shrill cry of a newborn pierced the oppressive silence of a small Texas home.

Malachi Kinsley glanced from the closed door to his parents' room to his father, who stood ramrod straight in the manner only a career soldier less than six months retired could.

"Strong lungs," Papa commented, his tone flat and even. There was no excitement anywhere in the house. This child was not wanted.

Correction, the child wasn't wanted by any of the adults. Malachi wanted a little brother. He could probably deal with a little sister, if he had to, but a little brother was what he hoped for.

The door opened and the midwife stepped out, walking up to his father and giving him a sad smile. "It's a boy. A bit small, but healthy." She glanced back at the open door and quietly motioned for Papa to move a few feet away, her voice low. "She doesn't want to touch him, let alone allow him to nurse, which is understandable given the circumstances. Poor dear."

Malachi managed not to snort, but it was a close thing. There were many things anyone who truly knew her would call his mother, but 'poor dear' was not one of them.

"Still the child is not at fault for the sins of the father." Malachi wondered how long Papa had been practicing that line and whether he had convinced himself yet or not. "We cannot allow the child to starve."

The woman looked relieved to hear this. "If we were not so remote, I would look for a wet nurse, but I don't know of any around here. We can try donkey's milk if necessary." She glanced back to the other room once more. "I would hate to force her after what that _man_ \--"

Malachi couldn't listen to anymore and quietly made his way into his parents' room. His mother was sitting in the bed, her sweaty hair plastered against her head. She was glaring silently at the babe lying just a couple feet away, a pillow clutched suspiciously in her hands.

Oh, his father and the midwife may not think it suspicious, but they also believed her when she said she fell down the stairs because of dizziness - twice. 

Malachi may be only twelve, but he wasn't born yesterday. He knew what she'd been trying to do and was thankful she'd finally given up after realizing the only one she was hurting was herself.

Papa always said he was 'twelve going on fifty,' but Mama believed him to be young and stupidly naive. Which is probably why she hadn't been as careful with concealing her actions as she should've been when Papa was away.

He walked over to the baby, reaching down and running a finger lightly over his cheek. The skin was so soft and delicate. It would be only too easy for the babe to come to harm.

"Mama, you need to feed the baby."

"I'm tired, Malachi. Leave me be." She turned to look at the wall. "I am not going to touch that... _ thing. _ " Then, quieter, as though she didn't realize she were even speaking aloud. "It ruined everything."

"Mama, please, all I want is for my baby brother to be safe. You don’t even have to love him. I’ll love him enough for both of us.” 

No response. Not that he was surprised. He’d learned long ago that Mama was not the selfless sort and the only way to get something from her was for it to benefit her in some way.

“I’d hate for Papa to find out about all the things I heard when he was away and you thought I was asleep." 

That got her attention and she spun her head back toward him, eyes wide with fearful comprehension. 

"And we all know what a gossip Aunt June is. I’m sure it wouldn’t take her long to figure out who  _ Richard _ is." 

Aunt June was Papa’s older sister and anything said within her earshot was likely to travel clear across Texas within the week.

Aunt June also hated Mama something fierce and was already skeptical of her story about the ‘masked intruder who took her virtue after threatening her sleeping child.’

“I’m sure she’d love to hear how fast he lammed out of here when you told him the news.”

"Y-You--" She floundered for a few moments, finally only able to gasp out in outrage, "I am your  _ mother _ !"

"You are  _ his _ mother, too, Mama. It’s not  _ his _ fault your ticket back East bailed on you." His voice broke slightly and he barely managed to hold his mother’s furious gaze. If Papa weren’t home for good, he’d be fearful for  _ both _ their lives at this moment, but he refused to back down. He wasn’t Cain; he  _ was _ his brother’s keeper and this was his first test. 

“I’ve kept your secret this long, Mama, and I will keep it as long as  _ my brother _ lives.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next couple weeks were tense in the Kinsley household - not that tension was anything new, really, but Malachi had quickly come to learn that his skills at dealing and blackmail were nothing compared to his mother's deviousness. 

While she'd reluctantly agreed to start nursing the baby, now named Amos, Mama did so no more than was absolutely necessary for the child's survival and she refused to tend to him in any other manner, reminding Malachi he had offered to love him enough for them both.

Two weeks in, the midwife showed up at the door with a shipment of a new powdered milk they were using in the big cities for babies who were unable to be nursed normally, as well as some specially designed 'baby bottles' and began gushing over what a great person Mama was, as though Amos wasn't simply deserving of a mother's unconditional love.

"Some of the ladies in town were so moved by your incredible bravery and willingness to do your motherly duty and care for this child, despite the awful circumstances of his conception and your initial,  _ justified _ reluctance, that they were inspired to raise money to help make things a bit more comfortable for you." She turned a warm smile to Malachi, who was finding it very difficult at that moment to not gag. "And you'll be able to assist your mother more with the babe's care, won't that be nice, Malachi?"

He bit his tongue so hard to keep from saying something his mother would make him - and most likely Amos - regret, that the taste of copper filled his mouth, but he managed a tight smile and nod, before collecting the boxes and carrying them to the kitchen pantry.

Despite the disgust he felt at the undue praise being heaped on his mother, things did seem to improve from that day on. While she, predictably, foisted the feeding onto him (and Papa, who had been assisting when Malachi was at lessons or tending the horses), along with everything else, her poorly concealed hostility towards Amos mellowed into a cool indifference.

The attention she garnered, going into town with Amos in her arms, playing a combination of victim and paragon of motherly virtue, seemed to feed her vanity enough that she was able to set aside her misplaced anger at being deprived of an opportunity to escape the 'savagery' of Texas and return home to Boston, at least temporarily.

For his part, Malachi didn't mind tending to Amos one bit. He adored his baby brother, and was happy to set everything else aside to care for him. It had put strain on some of his friendships, but as soon as Amos could sit up by himself, he began taking the baby on outings to meet up with some of the closest and most trusted members of his social circle. 

By the time Amos' first birthday rolled around, his brother had established a network of 'Guardian Angels' amongst his friends, who would help to keep an eye on Amos in the event Malachi was unable for some reason.

The week leading up to Hallowe'en, Malachi made a deal with the local baker and spent a couple hours each night doing dishes and cleaning their shop. When Wednesday finally rolled around, he stopped by for his payment: two small 'cupcakes' with sweet frosting.

That night, once Papa had left for his night job and Mama had headed off to attend a local barn dance, Malachi and Amos sat down and celebrated one year together. Amie, as he'd been dubbed by Malachi's friends, ended up with more cake on his body and in his hair than in his mouth, but he was happy and his sweet baby laughter made Malachi's heart swell.

Hopefully, they'd have many more years to celebrate and he'd do everything in his power to ensure his brother never lost that smile or laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

Amos' second birthday was celebrated almost exactly the same as his first, with one notable exception. The Guardian Angels had helped Malachi scrape together fifty cents in the weeks leading up to Hallowe'en so that he and Amos could sit for a daguerreotype. 

The photographer had been skeptical at first, when Malachi and Amos arrived with no adults, but in the end was impressed both with the way Malachi was able to keep the babe still, so the exposure wasn't ruined and the fact Amos had kept a smile throughout the process.

"That is the happiest babe I've ever photographed. He's obviously been raised right," the man commented, thoughtfully, as he worked the finished picture into a frame. Malachi sighed internally, preparing to yet again hear undue praise heaped on his mother. "You've done good, kid." The man said, giving him a wink as he handed over the small picture for Malachi's inspection. "Don't look so surprised. Anyone looking at this portrait would know who the most important person in that child's life is."

Malachi looked down at the picture and had to fight back tears. It was strange seeing himself unmoving and frozen in time, holding his baby brother in his lap, while Amos stared up at him, seemingly enraptured, with a big beautiful smile.

He would have to find someplace safe to hide this precious memento, because Mama would be furious if she found out he'd been squirreling money away in secret, let alone using it for something like this. He would not allow her to take this from him or Amie, who he planned to give it to once he was old enough.

* * *

The summer before Amos' third birthday, Papa was severely injured at his night job. He spent two months in bed and it was nearly another two months before he could walk and move halfway normally. 

Malachi was forced to take on all the duties around the ranch, as well as taking up a part-time job in town to help recover a bit of the income Papa could no longer provide.

Home life was now the worst it had ever been.

Mama made no bones about who she blamed for all their misfortunes, after all, a new mouth to feed was the very reason Papa had needed to take on the extra work.

Papa was feeling useless and inadequate and Mama's casual disdain and constant complaints about their lack of money only seemed to drive those feelings deeper. Eventually, he began drinking away the small pension he received from the Army each month and was quickly becoming someone Malachi didn't recognize. 

Amos' smiles became a rare sight. Malachi was only able to spend a couple hours each day with his brother and they both were feeling the strain of the new separation. Most days, the smile would return briefly when Malachi came home and pulled him into a hug, but it rarely lasted long.

On Hallowe'en, Malachi managed to get away from work a couple hours early and made his way home, sad he was unable to come up with the extra money this year for even one birthday cupcake, but determined to make the day as special as possible for his brother.

He knew something was wrong the moment he walked in the door and Amos didn't immediately run to greet him and get his customary hug and kiss. 

Alarmed, he hurried back to the bedroom they shared, sighing in relief when he found his brother on his bed. The relief died almost instantly, when he realized Amos was sobbing like his little heart had broken.

"Amie, what's wrong?" He hurried over to the bed, picked his brother up and pulled him into his lap. Immediately, he could feel his brother's pants were damp and the material stiff as though they'd been drying for some time. "Did you have an accident, sweetheart?" A nod, followed by a broken sob was his only answer.

Amos was not a child who had accidents often. He had been a quick learner when Malachi had worked to get him out of diapers and was rather fastidious when it came to his clothing, so it was very unusual to find him in soiled pants, let alone to have been in them seemingly for hours.

"Well, why don't we go get you cleaned up, huh?" Malachi stood and began to carry him out of the room, but Amos suddenly began to sob harder and fight against him. Immediately, he stepped back to the bed and began rocking Amos, while kissing his hair and whispering soothing reassurances. "It's okay. It's okay. I've got you. Calm down, Amie."

It took a few minutes, but once Amos began to settle once more, his sobs turning to hiccups and quiet tears, Malachi brushed his thumbs over his chubby, red cheeks, wiping away some of the dampness, then bent his head to meet his brother's eyes. "What's wrong, Amie? Don't you want to get cleaned up."

Amos sucked on his bottom lip, nodded, then shook his head, looking at the door with big eyes. "Not out."

Malachi blinked. "Not out?" He turned to look where Amos' eyes were focused. "You don't want to go out of the room?"

Amos plopped his thumb into his mouth and nodded.

"Why?" What the hell could possibly have happened to make his brother afraid to leave their room?

"'anterns," he slurred around his thumb.

Malachi mulled that one over. "Lanterns?" A nod. "But, Amie, we have lanterns in here. See?" He pointed to the two oil lanterns sitting atop shelves on the walls.

Amos shook his head, momentarily taking the thumb from his mouth. "Jackwanterns." He looked up at Malachi with sad eyes. "Mama sed Jackwanterns get me coz I bad." Another fat tear made its way down his cheek as he moved the thumb back into his mouth.

Malachi's vision went red and it took every ounce of willpower he had to not go hunt down his mother and punch her in her lying mouth.

' _ Think of Amie. Think of Amie. _ ' The words became a mantra in his mind as he forced himself to calm down. The last thing he wanted was for Amos to think he was mad at him or to scare him.

Finally, after a couple minutes and some really deep breaths, he was able to look down at his brother and force a smile just for him, then leaned in to kiss his forehead. "You are  _ not _ bad, Amie. You are very,  _ very _ good. Never listen to anyone who tells you different - even Mama.

"The Jack-O'-Lanterns aren't going to hurt you. They're just silly decorations and even if they weren't,  **_I_ ** wouldn't let them - or anyone else - hurt you." He once more wiped the tears from his brother's cheeks, then pulled him into a big hug. "Let's go get you cleaned up and then I'll take you out and show you how to ride Midnight, okay?"

"Hosie!" Amos' eyes lit up and he smiled around the thumb in his mouth, earlier heartbreak seemingly forgotten for now.

"Yes, horsie." Malachi laughed, then picked him up and headed out of the room, silently vowing to keep a better eye on his mother's actions from here on out.


	4. Chapter 4

On Amos’ fourth birthday, Malachi found himself sitting on his cot, staring at the little picture from two years prior, while listening to the company bugler playing ‘Taps’ and wondering what his little brother had done that day.

Papa’s drinking had gotten worse the previous winter and had drastically affected their already dwindling finances. Malachi’s job in town was not bringing in enough to make up the deficit, so the day he turned 16, his mother arranged for his enlistment in the Army.

At least, that was the reasoning she gave to anyone who asked. Malachi knew her real motive: get him as far away as possible, so he couldn’t be a constant thorn in her side with regards to her treatment of Amos.

She had never laid a harmful hand on his brother, but she took a perverse delight in making him miserable. Unfortunately, and unsurprisingly, the little boy craved his mother’s love and attention, so he was an easy target for her vitriol.

Of course, anytime Malachi took her to task for her behavior, she reminded him smugly that she was abiding by the terms he’d laid out the day Amos was born. So, he'd finally decided to bring in the big guns: Aunt June.

Aunt June was not the most maternal of women, even with five boys of her own, but she was loyal to family and the moment Papa had given Amos his last name, she'd accepted him into the clan, despite her dislike for her sister-in-law and her suspicions about his conception.

All it took was her nephew coming to her with concerns about his father's drinking and his mother's ability to cope with that while also handling a three-year-old and his aunt was making regular trips to their home, bringing her youngest with her as a playmate for Amos while she worked on sobering her little brother up.

To say Mama was displeased would be a massive understatement. Aunt June had the eyes of a hawk and the first sign of mistreatment she saw would be Mama's undoing, and she knew it. Malachi was certain this was the final straw that led to his exile via enlistment.

The day he left for Kansas, Amos was inconsolable. He was too young to understand why his 'Kai' was leaving and why he couldn't come along. Papa, who was now two months sober, thanks to his sister's tough love, had to gently pull Amos away from where he'd wrapped himself around his big brother's leg, sobbing.

Malachi, fighting back tears of his own, managed to kiss his forehead, while eluding his grasping arms, and whispered, "I love you, Amie. Never forget that." He shot a covert glare at his mother, who was standing behind Papa, looking all too pleased with herself, before reiterating, "You. Are. Loved."

His father gave him a handshake, then pulled him into a one-armed hug, before turning to take a struggling and screaming Amos back into the house.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Malachi turned to his mother. "Don't look so smug, Mama. Aunt June isn't the only set of eyes I have on you. Amos has Guardian Angels who will be reporting to me regularly and I have letters to both Aunt June and Papa ready to go." He moved closer and stared down into her eyes, no longer trying to hide his contempt. "You've altered the rules of our deal, Mama. 

"I can no longer be here to love him for us both, so the first indication I get that he is anything other than a normal, healthy little boy, your charade will come to an end and I'm sure Papa will be happy to let you  _ walk _ back to New England."

The look on his mother's face, as he turned and walked away, was one he would cherish until the day he died.

* * *

By the time Amos' fifth birthday rolled around, Malachi was feeling more hopeful for the future. His skill with horses had landed him a position as a farrier for one of the companies within the local dragoon regiment; a position he loved. 

Additionally, his coolheadedness during one of the ever-more-frequent clashes with the local Indian tribes had earned him praise from several officers, who were talking about the possibility of sending him back east for officer training. 

The idea of becoming a commissioned officer had never appealed to him, but if it would allow him the means to get Amos out of his mother's grasp and raise him, himself, he would accept the offer in a heartbeat.

"Hey, Kai, whatcha woolgatherin' about?" A beefy hand clamped him on the shoulder, making him jump slightly, and he simultaneously pulled his gun off his lap and tried to stash the picture in his hand into one of his pockets.

"Shootin' you if you scare me like that one more time," he growled, but there was no true heat in the words. He glanced around quickly, sighing in relief when he could see the silhouettes of the guards on the outer perimeter of the camp and none seemed to be looking their way. "What're you doing up, Danny? I know you're not on guard duty tonight."

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd keep you company a bit."

"You're lucky one of the guards didn't mistake you for a bear, you big oaf." He shook his head, and patted the log he was sitting on. "C'mon, then. Out with it."

He'd known Danny Matthews for a few months now. The kid was a year or so younger than him, but was a head taller and built like a brick shithouse. Like Malachi, he'd been enlisted by his parents, but in his case it wasn't done out of ill will, simply a matter of too many mouths to feed and a desire for their son to have a better life than they could provide. 

Unfortunately, the kid was sheltered, and despite his size, was about as menacing as a kitten, so when he began having night terrors, it made him an easy target for some of the other recruits and Malachi had found himself taking on the big brother role, again.

"It was the usual," Danny began, as he took a seat. "Dead men clawin' their way out of the ground, horses, a church on fire..." He trailed off and seemed to be thinking something over. "There was something different this time, though." He chewed nervously on his lip, glancing around to be sure no one was in earshot, but still lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. "A man with eyes the color of gunmetal, but there was something about him that made me feel..."

"Safe?" Malachi guessed, once the silence had hung for a few moments.

"Protective. Like he was the most precious thing in the world and I  _ had _ to keep him safe and," he paused, looking Malachi in the eyes, "for the first time the other stuff didn't scare me. That's when I woke up." He shook his head. "I just don't get it."

"I do." Malachi pulled his picture out once more, looking down at it. "Sometimes, when you love someone enough, you stop fearing for yourself and their well-being is all that matters."

"But I don't even know who he was. It wasn't my Dad or any of my brothers."

"Maybe it's someone who is out there waiting for you to save them." Malachi smiled, then turned serious. "Whatever you do, do  _ not _ mention this dream to anyone else, you hear?"

"Sure," Danny said, uncertainly, confusion shining from his brown eyes. "I mean, you're the only one I talk to about this stuff, Kai."

"I know. Let's just keep it that way, okay?" He reached out and squeezed one brawny shoulder.

"So, what's that picture you got there?"

Malachi hesitated. He only allowed himself to look at the picture on Amos' birthday, so it was a pretty well hidden secret, despite the close quarters in camp. Eventually, he gave in and showed it to his friend. "This is who  _ I _ fear for most."

"Oh, you're a big brother, too?" Danny grinned as he studied the picture. "He's cute and you both look so happy." He paused and looked at Malachi with kind eyes. "You must miss him. You know I can listen to you, too, if you ever need to just talk about him."

"I might just take you up on that," Malachi managed, his throat tightening a bit. "Just not tonight, okay?"

"Okay." Danny gave his shoulder a squeeze, then stood up. "I'd better get myself back to bed. Good night, Malachi."

"Good night, Danny." He waited for his friend to enter his tent, then looked down at the picture, once more. "Good night, Amie." 

He kissed the photo and put it away for another year, not knowing he'd never look at it again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last of the backstory parts. Next chapter we return to Deadwood and the boys.

_Sunday, June 18, 1854_

Danny Matthews had never felt so helpless, or useless, in his nearly 17 years on earth.

A fever had swept over the camp, knocking more than half the soldiers in their regiment, himself included, off their feet. Most, like him, had recovered fairly quickly, but several, including his best friend, Malachi, had been hit far worse. 

For hours now, Malachi had faded in and out of consciousness, his breathing more and more labored as the day wore on. He was delirious and kept calling for, and apologizing to, his baby brother, Amie. 

Kai had only spoken of the boy a few times, but Danny knew he was the most important thing in his life. He'd been looking forward to turning 18 in a couple weeks, so he could take control of his own future - which included getting his brother away from their mother as soon as possible.

Now, Danny watched that dream slip away with every wheezing breath his friend took and each sad glance from the doctor, as he passed by Kai's bed to check on his patients who still had a future.

"D-Danny?" Malachi's voice was weak and barely audible, but he was lucid for the first time in days.

Danny quickly ran a hand over his face and turned to his friend with what he hoped was a comforting smile. "Hey. Good to see you back with us."

"Danny, please, I need you..." He had to fight for his next breath. "Picture... Letters... Box in... Bottom... Trunk. Thought... I'd have... Time..." He reached out and grabbed Danny's hand with more strength than should be possible and tried to speak more quickly between gasps. "Don't let them send to  _ her _ ... Please... She'll destroy them... Don't give her satis..fac.." The grip on his hand intensified as the struggle to breathe intensified, making him panic.

"I can't die... Oh, God... please. I can't leave...baby brother....all alone... Amie, I'm so sorry..." Breath wheezed from fluid-filled lungs in gasps that came farther and farther apart. "Please, God...Someone...watch over...Amie, I love--"

The grip on his hand suddenly slackened as the last word trailed off into a void of silence.

Danny continued to sit, weeping silently and holding his friend's still hand, until the doctor had him gently, but firmly removed from the infirmary and sent back to his own quarters.

Once he was alone, he made his way to Malachi's cot and the trunk sitting at its foot. It didn't take long to find the small wooden box he mentioned. Inside were two letters, labeled "Papa" and "Aunt June", as well as the small daguerreotype he'd seen once, the previous autumn.

He gently touched the image of the little boy and hoped one day he could find a way to deliver this to him.

A silly notion, at best. Even if he made it to Texas, how could he ever hope to find this one boy? 

Surely it would take a miracle, and who ever saw any of those these days?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was _**supposed**_ to be the last chapter, but the muses are feeling chatty about everything _**except**_ what I had planned for the chapter, so there will be at least one more.
> 
> TW: Past Child Abuse, both physical (non-graphic) and psychological, is referenced.

_Thursday, October 31, 1878_

Clayton’s birthday party had been a success, but Matthew knew there was one more gift he needed to deliver. He wasn’t sure what Clayton’s reaction would be, so he didn’t say anything until Aly left to escort Bella home and head off to meet his “friends” at the Gem. 

“Clayton,” he said softly, gently jostling the man beside him, who had begun to doze off. 

Once Clayton shook his head and began rubbing his eyes in an effort to wake himself up, Matthew continued, “I have something else for you. I just have to run up to my room, okay?”

“‘Kay.” Clayton managed through a yawn. “You already got me plenty, though, Matty.”

“This one’s not from me, exactly.” Matthew murmured, then turned to Miriam, ignoring the quizzical look Clayton shot him. “Miriam, could you stay for this, too, please?”

“Of course, darlin’,” she said, giving him a puzzled look of her own.

Without further explanation, he hurried up to his room and rummaged in his footlocker for the bag containing the few possessions he’d managed to keep with him following his desertion. Once he had the small, weathered wooden box in his hand, he stopped and took a deep, calming breath. ‘ _ Lord, please let me be doing the right thing. _ ’

Finally, he made his way back down to the sitting room where Clayton and Miriam were patiently waiting. “Ms. Miriam, would you please join us on the sofa?” He indicated the cushion on the other side of Clayton, as he took his previous seat.

“Of course,” she said, drawing the two words out in her confusion. She immediately moved to sit beside Clayton, who was just as confused.

“Matty, you’re actin’ awfully peculiar - even for you.” Clayton was clearly trying for humor, but some trepidation had begun to creep into his voice.

Matthew just reached out and squeezed his knee, reassuringly, before opening the small box and removing the old daguerreotype and carefully handing it over. “Do you know who this is?”

Clayton took the picture, studying it closely, while Miriam looked over his shoulder.

“What a handsome young man, and such an adorable baby,” she cooed.

“There’s something familiar,” Clayton murmured thoughtfully, his eyes trained on the elder of the two figures.

“I knew the older boy in that picture. I met him in the Army when I was a fresh recruit, twenty-five years ago.” He paused for a moment, watching as the picture began to shake minutely as Clayton began to put the pieces together. “His name was Malachi.”

“Kai,” Clayton whispered, his voice breaking on the name.

“That’s what he told me to call him when we became friends,” Matthew said, softly. He reached a hand out to run through Clayton’s hair, even as he saw Miriam putting her arm around his back, as she began to understand what was happening. He pointed to the baby in the picture. “And he called you Amie.”

Clayton turned to him in surprise, tears in his eyes. “He talked about me?”

“He sure did.” Matthew smiled sadly. “Not often, because it made him sad - he missed you so much - but you were the most important thing in his life.”

Clayton shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching the fist not holding the picture. “No. He left me. He joined the army and I never saw him again.” His voice was rough and filled with pain and a touch of anger, sounding very much like a hurt, abandoned child. As quickly as it came, though, it died and his next words were filled with heart-breaking guilt and sorrow. “I-I forgot what he looked like.”

“Oh, sweetheart, that’s not your fault,” Miriam crooned softly, pulling an unresisting Clayton into her arms. 

“And he didn’t  _ choose _ to leave you.” Matthew reached out and cupped Clayton’s cheek. “Your mother enlisted him. He wanted so badly to get back to you and take you away from her, but he got sick and as hard as he fought, it was a battle he just couldn’t win.

“I was with him in the end and even in his delirium, all of his thoughts were about you. He just kept apologizing and begging God to not leave you alone in the world.” He felt moisture on his hand and gently used his thumb to brush away Clayton’s tears, even as he fought back his own. “His last words were ‘Amie, I love you.’”

Clayton turned his face away and began weeping softly against Miriam’s shoulder, as she rocked him gently and Matthew once more reached out to stroke his hair.

After a few minutes, Clayton pulled back, wiping at his face and visibly working to calm himself. “I’m sorry for bawlin’ all over you,” he said to Miriam, giving her a small, abashed smile.

“None of that,” she scolded lightly, giving him a watery smile of her own to take away any sting from the words. “Seeking comfort from your family is nothing to apologize or feel ashamed for.”

“I’ll try to remember that, but having family to go to for comfort is something I’ve not had since I was three years old.” He glanced back at Matthew, then down to the picture he still clutched in his hand. “They said he left because of me.”

“That wasn’t true. He never wanted to leave. He told me so, himself.”

“When he died, Papa began drinking, night and day, and he was always angry,” Clayton continued, as though he hadn’t heard what Matthew said. “When I was six, Mama sold Kai’s horse, Midnight. He had been a gift from Papa to Kai when he was the same age. 

“Papa flew into a rage, blaming me for everything and saying it was my fault Kai was dead and that it should’ve been me, as he beat me near to death.” He took a deep breath and looked up at Matthew. “I  _ wanted _ to die, because I thought I’d go to Heaven and be with Kai. To me, Heaven  _ meant _ Kai. When I woke up in my bed, three days later, the first words Mama said to me were, ‘Even Heaven doesn’t want you.’”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sigh* I swear I am going to eventually get these muses under control and back on track!

The sound of metal banging against metal coming from the kitchen made Matthew wince and the man in his arms flinch slightly. He gently rubbed Clayton’s back and placed a kiss on his forehead.

Clayton had told the story of his abuse in a fairly detached manner, as though it were simply something that happened every Tuesday.

Perhaps, for him, it was. For Matthew and Miriam, though, it was a scene straight out of Hell.

Matthew was certain his heart had shattered, and it felt as though his blood had turned to ice water, the moment Clayton said that he’d wished for death as a six-year-old. Anger at the monsters who had done this to the man he loved was there, but it was eclipsed by the absolute terror of imagining a world where he never got to meet the love of his life, because he’d died before he had a chance to live.

Instinctively, he’d reached for Clayton, pulled him onto his lap, and hugged him close to his chest, as though fearing he might vanish at any moment.

Miriam, on the other hand, had gone straight from shocked horror to seething fury. She sat still for several moments, the only movement her hands clawing the air, as though searching for eyes to gouge.

“I think we could all use some of Curly’s bedtime tea,” she said, finally, the words clipped and muttered through clenched teeth. 

She arose abruptly and stomped her way to the kitchen, making Clayton jump, his grey eyes following her movements, warily.

“It’s okay,” Matthew whispered, rubbing his back. “She’s angry  _ for _ you, not  _ at _ you. We both are. We love you, so the idea of someone hurting you, even if it was in the past, makes us hurt and angry on your behalf.”

“Sorry.” The instinctive apology made Matthew want to weep. 

Instead, he placed his thumb on Clayton’s chin and gently coaxed him to look at him. “You have  _ nothing _ to apologize for. You are not responsible for our reactions to your trauma.” He placed a chaste kiss on Clayton’s lips, then brought their foreheads together. “None of this is your fault. Not now and certainly not then.”

They had now been listening to Miriam bang around in the kitchen for nearly ten minutes, so when it suddenly became quiet, they both looked toward the door in concern.

“Wait here,” Matthew said, gently sliding Clayton onto the sofa and giving him another kiss on the forehead.

He made his way to the kitchen, being as quiet as possible, and carefully opened the door to look inside.

Miriam was standing against the counter next to the stove, her face buried in her hands.

“Miriam?” 

At the sound of his voice, she turned away, wiping at her eyes with one hand, while waving him away with the other. “T-the tea is almost ready. Go on back to Clayton.” she said, trying and failing to hide the quiver in her voice.

“Clayton’s fine. It’s you I’m worried about.” He walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, just as the tea kettle began to whistle. She broke away from his grasp and began taking some cups from the cupboard, setting them down a bit harder than necessary.

Matthew winced, half expecting one of the cups to shatter in her hand. “Yes, I can see that,” he said, drily. “That’s why you stormed out of the room looking like you wanted to rip someone to pieces with your bare hands.”

“That  _ bitch _ !” Miriam spat the word. “They’re both monsters, but I’ve never hated anyone as much as I do this woman whose name I don’t even know.” She turned and looked up at Matthew, her eyes bright with more tears she was struggling to hold back. “Do you have  _ any _ idea what I would give to hold a child of my own in my arms just once? 

“My husband and I tried for years and suffered through three heartbreaks before giving up, while that selfish cow was gifted with two beautiful, healthy boys and she didn’t give a  _ damn _ about either of them!”

“It’s not fair,” Matthew agreed, “but I believe all things happen for a reason, whether we can see it or not.”

“What possible reason could there be for  _ that _ ?” She demanded, motioning toward the door. “Why would God give a child to such a monster and put him through that kind of hell?”

“God doesn’t make us into monsters, Miriam, we do that ourselves.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe the suffering was the plan. I believe Clayton was meant to help bring the Old Ones back, so they can restore balance to this world. As awful as his childhood was, it gave him the inner strength he needed to come this far. I believe God’s plan was to surround him with people who would nurture that strength and see him through.

“He had a brother who loved and protected him until the day he died, and possibly beyond. I vaguely remember Malachi talking about ‘guardian angels’ once, but I don’t believe he understood that  _ he _ was one of them .”

He moved to put his hands on her shoulders once more, meeting her troubled gaze with a compassionate one of his own. “We’ll never know why you were denied a child of your own, but there is a young man sitting in the next room who has never known a mother’s love.” He gave her a wink and a smile. “Sounds like there might be a reason the two of you were brought together, don’t you think?”

“Pah,” she scoffed, brushing his hands aside and turning back to the tea, but he didn’t miss the small smile she was trying to hide. “So, what about you, Reverend? Do you believe you ended up in Deadwood just to save Mr. Sharpe?”

Matthew laughed. “I’ve been looking for Clayton since I first saw him in a dream when I was sixteen years old. There were times when the man in that dream was the only reason I had for going on.” He shook his head, smiling softly. “I guess we were meant to save each other.”

“Well, I can certainly think of worse destinies.” Miriam turned and handed him two cups, before picking up her own and heading toward the door to the sitting room. “His mother’s, for one, if I ever get my hands on her.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, Ma, no chapter increase. Miracles do occur and muses _can_ be wrangled. ;)
> 
> Thanks for joining me on this little side trip aboard the Angst Express. 
> 
> Until next time, hope you all stay safe and healthy. ♥

They reentered the sitting room to find Clayton with the wooden box in his lap and an envelope in his hand; Matthew recognized it as one of the two that had been in the box along with the picture.

“What’ve you got there, darlin’?” Miriam asked, as they took their seats and Matthew handed Clayton his cup of tea.

“It’s addressed to my aunt,” he said, showing her the envelope, then turned to look at Matthew. “From Malachi, I presume.”

Matthew nodded. “The fever came on so quickly that he didn’t have time to prepare. His last request was that I take this box so it wouldn’t wind up in your mother’s hands when the Army sent his belongings home. I think he may have forgotten that he never told me where you all lived, so all I could do was hold onto it.”

“For almost twenty-five years?” Clayton stared at him in amazement.

Matthew shrugged. “I couldn’t imagine just throwing it away. I hoped I’d be able to deliver it for him someday, somehow.” He reached out and squeezed Clayton’s knee. “And now I have.”

Clayton gave him a watery smile, then looked back down at the envelope. “It’s not addressed to me, though.”

“You weren’t old enough to read when he wrote it. I doubt Kai would mind you reading it now.” Matthew gave his knee another reassuring squeeze.

Clayton stared down at the envelope once more, took a deep breath, and turned to Miriam. “Miss Miriam, would you read it for me?”

“Of course, darlin’.” She started to reach for the envelope, but hesitated. “Are you sure? I mean, this is likely private family matters.”

“You all are the only family I have now, Miss Miriam.” He placed the envelope in her palm, giving her hand a light squeeze as he did so, then leaned back against Matthew, who wrapped an arm around him in support.

Miriam opened the envelope, which had never been sealed, and found a couple yellowing sheets of paper within. She carefully pulled them out, smoothed them and began reading the first.

“‘ _ Aunt June, _

_ If you are reading this, it means one of two things: either I’m dead or my baby brother needs your help. Perhaps both. _

_ I have kept a secret since I was 12 years old. I am not proud of not speaking up before now, quite the contrary. However, I made a deal to secure my brother’s future and I will never regret doing  _ anything _ to keep him safe. I simply regret that I wasn’t smart or clever enough to do more. _

_ It is in regards to the circumstances surrounding my brother’s conception. _ ’”

Miriam paused as Clayton stiffened in Matthew’s arms and made a small sound somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. “Clayton, honey, are you okay?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, started to nod, then shook his head and whispered, “It’s why she always hated me.” He buried his face in Matthew’s shoulder for a moment, trying to regain his composure, before gesturing for Miriam to continue.

She hesitated for a moment, then looked to Matthew, who gave her a nod.

“‘ _ I know you have always had your suspicions about Mama’s story, so I’m sure you’ll be pleased to know you were right all along. There was no masked stranger and she had no virtue to steal. _

_ I was always a light sleeper and Mama and her “friend'' were never particularly quiet. He was planning to move back to New England and Mama saw it as a perfect opportunity to go home and leave me and Papa behind - never mind that I was only 12 and Papa was hundreds of miles away. _

_ Unfortunately for her, he had no desire to be a parent, so the night she told him she was expecting, you should’ve heard how quickly he left. He packed up and was gone the next day. _

_ I don’t know his surname, but if you know of a man named Richard who suddenly up and left town in early May of ‘48, that’s Amos’ real daddy. _

_ Mama was so spiteful, she tried more than once to kill my brother while he was still growing inside her and I knew if given the chance, she’d kill him as a babe.  _

_ So, I did what I had to in order to protect my brother and I made a deal with the Devil (for I’m now more convinced than ever that is who she is): my silence for my brother’s life. _

_ She altered the terms of our deal when she had me shipped off to the Army, but I have to continue to play along until I can get back and get him safely out of her clutches. I pray that I am successful and never have to send this letter. _

_ If not, please give the enclosed letter and photograph to Amos when he is old enough to understand. _

_ Please, continue to treat him as family and look after him for me. _

_ Your nephew, _

_ Malachi _ ’”

A heavy silence hung in the air as she finished reading. Clayton’s face had drained of color and his eyes were wide and unfocused. 

“Clay?” Matthew was growing quite concerned as he could feel Clayton’s whole body beginning to shake. “Talk to us. Please.”

Miriam noticed the trembling, as well, and quickly grabbed the throw off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Clayton’s shoulders, before placing her hands gently on both sides of his face. “Clayton? You need to breathe, honey.” No response. She looked into his unfocused eyes, thought about what memories he might be reliving and decided to try a different approach. “Amos?”

Grey eyes blinked, breath came back with a sob, and two arms wrapped around her as Clayton practically launched himself into her embrace, pressing his face against her chest and weeping.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” she whispered, placing a kiss in his hair and rocking him, as though he were a child. 

She looked up at Matthew, who gave her a sad, but slightly smug, smile and whispered, “See? Reasons.”

She just rolled her eyes at him and turned her attention back to Clayton, stroking his hair and whispering words of comfort, as his sobs gradually abated.

“I forgave her.” Clayton said a few minutes later, his voice raspy from crying, and he didn’t raise his head. “Every damn time she was cruel, I forgave her, because I believed her when she said I was forced on her. My whole life I believed I was the byproduct of an evil act and that was why she hated me.” Finally, he sat back enough to look Miriam in the eye. “God help me, I thought her hate was justified.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She accepted a handkerchief from Matthew and began dabbing at the tear stains on Clayton’s cheeks. “Even if what she said had been true, her hate would not have been justified. You are not responsible for sins committed before you were born.”

“I spent sixteen years trying to earn her forgiveness and hoping she’d learn to love me some day.” He gave a humorless laugh. “I was such a fool.”

“ _ She _ was the fool,” Miriam said, firmly. “She was so selfish and self-absorbed she couldn’t see the incredible gift she had been given and that’s  _ her _ loss.” She reached out and combed her fingers through his hair. “Some of us aren’t so blind and I, for one, will never give you up without a fight.”

“Thank you, Miss Miriam.” He ducked his head, shyly, but she still caught a glimpse of the pleased smile on his lips.

“No need to thank me, sugar. This is what family is for.” She looked back at the papers now sitting in her lap. “Do you want me to read the other letter or would you rather read it for yourself?”

Clayton considered the question for a moment, then held out his hand. She handed him the second page, but instead of reading the letter, he carefully folded the paper and put it in his shirt pocket, over his heart. He held his hand over the pocket for a moment, eyes closed, and took a deep breath.

“I love you, Kai,” he whispered, then opened his eyes and smiled at Miriam. “I’ll read it later.” He leaned back into Matthew and shared a smile with him, as well. “I think it’s time I let the past rest and focus on my future - with my  _ new _ family.”


End file.
